


Focus

by WingsMadeOfTin



Category: The Hour
Genre: F/M, Feels, Major Character Injury, Spoilers, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 14:18:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingsMadeOfTin/pseuds/WingsMadeOfTin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's lying on his back on the grass outside the studio.</p><p>It's a beautiful night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Focus

**Author's Note:**

> My first post here on AO3. I've not written in a long time. Too long, I expect, so pardon the rust.

It's a beautiful night.

 

Freddie Lyon can't quite see.

 

The sky is massive above him but he can't make out the particulars.  He _knows_ it's filled with stars, knows that tonight is probably particularly beautiful.  If The Hour has done its job, tonight a corrupt regime is crumbling.  The heavens will always come out to witness such events -- but he can't see any stars, just the dark.

 

If he could still feel anything, he suspects he would be very cold.  Perhaps the grass is wet.  Perhaps the air carries a hint of winter.

 

He blinks with the one eye that hasn't swollen shut; for a moment he sees only red.  He tries and fails to blink it away, forcing his lips to move around a barely-there mumble.

 

"Moneypenny…"

 

He says it because he would rather call up the image of _her_ , wants to see _her_ , stern with her hair pulled back, lips pursed as she glares at him over some argument about sources or headlines or theatre or the evils of French food.  Wants to see her with her eyes gone piggish-squinty as she tries to lie to him, wants to see the quirk of her lips as she calls him _James_ , as though they were spies playing at this dangerous game with any modicum of skill.  

 

"Moneypenny…"

 

Because if he doesn't focus he will see something other than the pale gold softness of her hair.  Cilenti and his ridiculous goons, bearing down on him with ham-fisted technique; there had been foam at the corners of Cilenti's mouth, white flecks of spittle flying whenever he threw a punch and what a curious thing, that he'd barely felt the punches anymore but he'd been so keenly aware of that spit when it hit him, thinking _Well that's disgusting._ If he doesn't fill his mind with her, other things will creep in instead and they are far darker than the sky and much too cold to carry.  Ruthie, _God_ Ruthie _I am so sorry_ , crumpled in her bathtub like a broken child.  The last he saw his father.  Camille, walking away.

 

"Moneypenny…" 

 

Because he think he might be dying, and if there must be an end to him than let him go with Bel on his mind.  She should have always been on his mind.  It took him too long to stop waiting, to stop being such an utter fool.  

 

"Moneypenny…" 

 

And there are tears in his eyes, and they sting, because they had only just started, the _possibility_ of them, of her and him becoming _us_ , he had only just found it, he could still feel the press of her lips on his, somehow so much more permanent than any infinite acts of violence.

 

He thinks he can hear her, and he thinks she might be screaming his name.

 

Can't be sure, though.

 

He can't quite see.

 

But it is a beautiful night.


End file.
